


The Companion

by White_Noise



Series: The Other Life of Quentin Holmes, Quartermaster [10]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Puppy Gladstone, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Noise/pseuds/White_Noise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission, a conversation and a dog. The story of Gladstone the puppy and how he kept changing owners, from Bond to Q to John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Companion

**Author's Note:**

> Another day, another story to add to my collection of Bondlock. 
> 
> Again for Cathryn, my beta reader and the person who wrote the end of this when I was struck with a serious case of writers block. You, my dear, are amazing. Also to TouchoftheWind, who suggested that Q was the one to give Gladstone to John. I just couldn't leave your idea alone.
> 
> There will be a brief discussion at the bottom of this story in regards to certain elements I used. But you will have to read through to get to them. Or skip to the bottom.

It had to happen eventually, Q realised. He may have been the head of Q branch, but like everyone employed by the secret service; he was also trained for field work. Really, it was a surprise the young Quartermaster hadn’t been called out earlier to handle some situation like this, something which couldn’t be handled over a radio. 

And to be honest, he had been lucky with his first field mission. Montpellier, in the south of France was a beautiful city. And the company, despite the short notice of the mission, was also pleasant.

He was currently working with both James and Eve, the two field agents (Former field agent, as Eve kept stating) preparing themselves for the first part of their plan; retrieve the laptop of a Mr Adrien Morellet, a man believed to have a contract with a mercenary by the name of Julian Roshwick. Roshwick had been named as a suspect in several high profile murders, as well as having connections to the now deceased James Moriarty. 

The man was wanted by both the CIA and the SIS and had been a point of interest in Q branch for the last month. French authorities, realising their situation, had happily given MI6 access to their data to track the man, all under the promise that none of the agents would draw attention to themselves in the way the CIA was prone to doing. It must have been of great amusement then, for M to choose Bond as the agent to carry out this mission, but the access had been vital to Q branch.

The latest intelligence was that Mr Roshwick was being harboured somewhere in France but would be leaving the country within the next two days, giving the agents a very narrow window in which to catch him. The data on Mr Morellet’s laptop therefore, was currently their only clue to the mercenary’s last known location and due to the man’s paranoia, it was impossible to hack without direct access to the machine. 

That was why, before dawn of that very morning, Q had found himself being shaken awake by Double O Seven and, after feeding Bond’s new pet, a British Bulldog pup old Mrs Scopal, the dog breeder from next door, had given Bond one afternoon as a welcome present, had been bundled onto a train to cross the channel and into France. Now he sat in the sunshine of the little café, watching as James and Eve talked (Or more correctly, bickered) over their plan to retrieve the laptop. 

It should he a simple enough extraction. Despite his mistrust of the internet, Mr Morellet did not seem to be overly paranoid, hiring only minimal guards and staff for his villa on the outskirts of the city. Q had already found the blueprints to the house and the best access points for his agents. Now, it was simply a matter of time until nightfall and the start of the plan.

It was already agreed that Q would not take part in the actual heist but wait in the hotel rooms MI6 had secured for them, ready to break into the laptop the moment the agents brought it to him. Then, once the information was extracted, Bond would depart the group to begin the hunt for Roshwick while Eve and Q would send word back, allowing the authorities to handle Morellet before retreating back to Britain and the relative safety of MI6, or in Q’s case, back to his apartment and the little terror now living there.

But that still left them with several hours to wait before the sun set. 

Therefore, the three had decided to relax, finding a small, out of the way area to watch their surroundings. Eve had even challenged Q to a game of deduction, stating that since he basically lived in the basement of MI6 and had thick enough glasses to suggest he was almost blind, it would be an easy game. Picking out pedestrians at random, the two had been competing to gather and state as much information as possible on the victim, with Bond watching and keeping score.

Q had found the game amusing, even if, after an hour of playing it did put Eve in a sulk; Q himself was left undefeated and Bond was grinning like a lunatic. 

Lesson learned: you don’t challenge a Holmes to a game of observation. 

Especially when said Holmes could tell they were being watched. 

With Bond and Eve now bickering over that nights plan, Q found himself turning his full attention towards their silent observer.

The man at the corner table had been there since they had arrived; newspaper opened and propped up to hide his face. Every now and again, the paper was lowered slightly, blue eyes peering out from under the deerstalker cap the man wore before the paper was once again replaced. 

Sighing, Q reached for his mobile phone and opened it. He typed in a quick message to a number only a select few people knew; his actions ignored by the two agents and pressed send. He dropped the mobile and leant back in his chair, listening carefully. After a few seconds, he heard the soft chime, as somewhere in the direction of their observer, a message was received. 

In his peripheral vision, Q watched as the paper twitched. 

The Quartermaster grinned and stood up. 

The two agents fell silent, turning to look at their Quartermaster. Q nodded to both of them.

“Please excuse me for a moment.” He stated before turning to the hidden man, well aware of the two sets of eyes on his back. 

Q stopped by the man’s table, noting how the figure ducked his head, still trying to hide his face. Q cleared his throat.

“Excuse me Sir, but I do believe that is your cow currently being towed.”

The hands tightened on the paper for a moment before it was lowered, a pale yet familiar face looking up at Q.

“Have I mentioned before that you are not funny?” Sherlock asked, glaring up at his brother. Q grinned.

The older man huffed, raising his paper yet again but Q was faster, leaning over the table and grabbing the offending pieces out of the detective’s hands. 

Sherlock huffed again before reaching up and removing the offensive hat from his head, leaving his dark curls in a state of disarray. He crossed his arms over his chest, silently challenging Q as the younger man pulled out the vacant seat and sat down.

“How have you been, Sherlock?” Q asked, settling back in the seat. 

The detective shrugged, refusing to look his brother in the face.

“I’ve been enjoying death. Well, I was until you showed up. One of your little missions, is it?” 

Q rolled his eyes as Sherlock glared over at Eve and James. Eve looked wary, watching in case Sherlock pulled a gun or something equally unpleasant on their Quartermaster. Bond, on the other hand, was glaring at Sherlock as if he could set the detective alight through simple wishes. 

“Believe it or not, yes, it is a mission.”

Sherlock snorted once more. Faintly, Q wondered if it was possible for his brother to make any other noises. 

“Dull.” The detective muttered. 

“You don’t even know what it is we are doing.” Q couldn’t help but reply. 

He knew from experience that he was challenging Sherlock to deduce their mission. Sherlock didn’t disappoint, giving a searching look to the two agents at the other table. Eve tried to cover her stare, quickly looking away but Bond didn’t, his eyes locking with Sherlock’s for a few long moments. 

“I see your Double O is as friendly as ever.” Sherlock stated, finally looking away. 

Q didn’t have to look to know that Bond was smiling in triumph at Sherlock’s actions. Instead, he watched as his brother leant closer.

“And back to your ‘mission’.”

Q could hear the emphasis his brother put on the word.

“Knowing your specialised skill set, it would no doubt be computer related, and yet, something which cannot be done from home. A computer hack, no doubt. Either the device in question is not transportable or there lacks sufficient time, hence your appearance here.”

Sherlock leant back in his seat but Q didn’t open his mouth. He knew his brother was just getting started.

“I doubt the mission is that dangerous, or else your guards over there wouldn’t have allowed you to walk through the streets, let alone talk to strangers. Therefore, the presence of your Double O seems to be a little over-kill. No doubt he found out you were being sent here with the other agent and decided that he must accompany you. How sweet.” 

Q rolled his eyes at his brother’s dry tone when mentioning Bond. Sherlock had never really warmed up to Bond, despite the two seemingly reaching an understanding. But then again, he had never really warmed up to anyone who wasn’t either his baby brother or a certain ex-army Doctor.

“Still, it must be nice to be out from under the careful watch of the secret service. And of course, dear Mycroft. He recently increased your security status, did you notice?”

Q nodded. Of course he had noticed how the CCTV in his neighbourhood was now trained on his apartment at all times and how the devices would now follow him down the streets when he took the puppy for a walk. He had also noticed how they now followed Bond with renewed interest, the oldest Holmes brother clearly seeing stalking as an acceptable method of analysing his youngest brother’s new partner (Not boyfriend. Never boyfriend. That word just didn’t seem right when trying to describe the relationship between the agent and the Quartermaster) He had also noticed through his own means that Mycroft’s lackeys had yet to figure out how stop Q from breaking into their own system and returning the favour. Mycroft had already sent a strongly worded message of warning to Q’s personal computer, not that it was going to stop the youngest Holmes. As far as Q was concerned, if Mycroft could do this sort of thing, then clearly he should be able to handle the consequences.

Under the table, Sherlock kicked Q, catching the younger man under the shin and rousing him from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, am I boring you?" The detective asked, not at all happy with his brothers lack of interest.

“You always bore me when you decide to deduce my habits, Sherlock.” Q replied. “But, enough about me. What are you doing here in France?”

Sherlock leant back in his seat, looking around with faint interest.

“Oh, many things. Until recently, I was employed to research the chemical changes in a new mixture of coal tar. The experience has proved insightful. I have also been looking into the profession of apiculture. I think you will find that I have managed to keep myself occupied.”

Q couldn’t help but stare at Sherlock in surprise.

“Let me see if I understand you. You faked your own death and came to France to test road sealants and try your hand at beekeeping?”

“You sound disapproving, little brother.” Sherlock replied

“Does Mycroft know what you are doing?” Q asked. 

Sherlock shrugged.

“I receive anonymous donations from him every month. I would guess by that, that he is aware at least of my current whereabouts.” 

Q shook his head. He already knew he wasn’t going to get anything useful from his brother. It was time to bring out the big guns.

“I saw Doctor Watson the other week.” He said. 

Suddenly those blue eyes were on him, staring closely. Sherlock didn’t ask any questions, simply waited for his brother to talk.

“He is well.” Q continued, already knowing his brother’s game. “Well, as well as can be expected, given the circumstances.”

He looked up, meeting Sherlock’s eyes. 

“He is planning to move out of Baker Street. Quite reasonable, I feel.”

Q fell silent. He had offered up as much as he planned to. Now it was Sherlock’s job to ask.

“Why? Baker Street is a much better residence for him. And I am sure Mrs Hudson wouldn’t object to him continuing to hold the rooms, even without sufficient funds.”

Q shook his head.

“I don’t think it is a matter of money, Sherlock. In fact, given the Doctor’s new job; I am certain he can afford to pay for the rooms himself. I think he wants to move because he wants to get away from the memories.” 

Sherlock continued to stare.

“What memories? Nothing bad ever happened to him there. Why would he have to move?” He asked, his face screwing up in confusion.

Q sighed. His poor sociopathic brother just didn’t understand that good memories can be just as damaging as bad ones.

“Baker Street reminds him of you Sherlock, his friend who died. It has nothing to do with good or bad memories. Just memories in general of the friend he thinks he will never see again.”

Sherlock was still looking at Q in disbelief. 

“John is sensible. He wouldn’t let himself be chased out of his home by memories.”

Q gave up. If Sherlock didn’t understand now, he never would. Some human behaviour would always be a mystery to the detective. 

Sherlock finally looked away. Q could practically see him thinking.

“Maybe if you were to visit him again…” He started. 

Q shook his head.

“I have already visited him more then I should. I am an intelligence operative Sherlock. I can’t really associate with him for too long without putting him at risk. You know that.” 

Sherlock deflated slightly but Q could see the worry in his eyes. 

Q thought hard. He knew that Sherlock had to stay in hiding for a while yet, Moriarty’s men still on the loose and dangerous. He also knew that the thought of Doctor Watson being lonely would play on his older brother’s mind. Sherlock couldn’t have any contact but John needed someone new to focus on. 

It couldn’t be a human. Sherlock would not like the idea that someone else would interest John. 

Then Q remembered. 

The little Bulldog puppy hidden away in his apartment. 

Bond had taken it in in a moment of compassion, not wanting to disappoint Q’s neighbour and at the same time, remembering the old M and her love of the animals. The dog, which Q had named Gladstone, after Bond had been unable to come up with anything sensible, (And no, he was not allowed to call it M) was a well behaved animal but Q was realistic. Neither he nor Bond had the time to look after the creature. All it would take would be one long mission with Bond on the other side of the world and Q stuck in the basement labs of MI6 for the puppy to starve to death. 

Frankly, the puppy needed a new home. Even Bond could see that. And Doctor Watson needed a new companion. 

Q couldn’t help but grin as the solution presented itself. Plans for when he returned to England started flying through his head as he analysed the timing to ensure that Doctor Watson accepted what would happen with the minim of fuss. Q would need to have Bond on board with the plan (since it was his dog) and it would probably be wise to tell Sherlock of his intentions. Of course, the former detective would absolutely hate it but when had that ever stopped Q from acting?

\-------

It was another cold day in London, as Doctor John Watson made his way towards the door of his home in Baker Street. It had been another long day of work, uneventful but yet, somehow busy. And now, he had the whole night to continue his search for a new apartment. 

Somewhere closer to the hospital would be ideal. Somewhere away from the memories which were all that was left of Sherlock. 

Of course, it would be hard to leave Mrs Hudson. The landlady had clung to John after Sherlock’s death and more often than not, would visit in the afternoons and have a cup of tea or even dinner with the Doctor. John enjoyed her company and felt rather protective of her. It would be difficult to leave. 

Still, that didn’t stop John from opening the door as quietly as possible, intent on climbing the stairs to his apartment (He was never going to get used to calling it his. It had always been theirs. His and Sherlock’s.) without alerting the older woman of his presence. A job which proved impossible as the older woman appeared at the top of the stairs, handkerchief in her hand and a strange look on her face.

“Mrs Hudson, are you alright?” John couldn’t help but ask, looking up at the woman on the landing.

“I think you should see for yourself dear.” The landlady replied, turning her back on the doctor and scurrying into 221B.

“I was just coming in from the shops when I was greeted at the door by Sherlock’s darling brother.” She continued from inside the apartment. 

John bit back a groan. There was only one man who had gained the title of Sherlock's darling brother. Quentin.

He had hoped that, after the younger Holmes had visited him a few weeks before at the clinic; the younger man would leave him alone for a while. But clearly, like his brothers, the young man didn’t know when to stop. 

With a sigh, John stepped into the apartment, bracing himself for the damage. 

He blinked. 

Mrs Hudson was holding onto the kitchen table, using it to hold her weight as she knelt down. She was reaching out to a small brown and white creature, which was straining against the collar around its neck, licking at the woman’s hand enthusiastically. 

The table in question was piled high with objects, including several bowls, a small pet bed and several different bags of puppy food. A note had been carefully placed on top of the pile.

Not taking his eyes from the creature, John reached for the note, wondering just what the hell was going on. He opened the note and read,

_‘Dr Watson,_

_Due to unforseen circumstances, I recently found myself opening my home to this little fellow who I have called Gladstone. Unfortunately, due to my lifestyle, I have been unable to devote adequate time to his care and therefore, have decided to place him with someone I trust._

_He is a nice tempered little one and it should not take too much effort to handle him._

_Of course, I understand that you may not feel you can take care of him. If this is the case, I simply ask that you find him a good home elsewhere._

_If you do chose to keep him, I feel that you could easily rename him to something more appropriate. Certainly, if he proves to be too destructive you could call him Sherlock._

_I wish both you and Gladstone nee, Sherlock all the best in whatever you chose to do._

_QH.’_

Slowly, John lowered the note to look once again at the puppy by Mrs Hudson’s feet. The puppy, Gladstone (There was no way he was ever going to call the little creature Sherlock. No one should be saddled with the memory of that name) looked back up at him, cocking its head as it tried to figure out the Doctor. Suddenly, it rose to its feet and lunged at the Doctor, only the leash attached to the table stopping it from meeting its new owner. 

John took a step forward, lowering his hand to allow the animal to catch his sent. Gladstone gave an enthusiastic yip and immediately tried to lick the offered hand.

Mrs Hudson cooed.

“Isn’t he darling?” She asked.

John blinked.

“Ah, yes. Yes he is.” 

With a groan, Mrs Hudson rose to her feet and began her journey to the door of the apartment. 

“Well, I will let you get him settled.” She said. “I do love dogs. Had a few myself, when my late husband was around.” 

John turned, ignoring the soft whimper from the dog as it tried, and failed, to follow him.

“Oh no, I can’t keep him.” The Doctor called as the woman disappeared through the door.

“Nonsense dear. Quentin wanted you to give him a good home and we can certainly do that.”

The door to Mrs Hudson’s apartment closed, indicating that the conversation was over. John sighed and looked down at the puppy. The puppy looked back up at him.

“Are you going to keep human heads in the fridge?” John asked.

The puppy continued to stare, clearly not understanding the stupidity of the question. John looked away, realising he was entering into a staring competition with a dog. Without looking, he reached for the leash and pulled it free of its knot. 

“Alright.” He said, turning towards the door. “Let’s go and see your new home.”

The dog trotted happily to its new master and rubbed against John’s leg. John gave Gladstone a quick pat on the head before turning to the door and leading the creature outside. 

As he exited the building, John looked around, Gladstone straining at his leash as the creature tried to explore anything and everything. John couldn’t help but smile at the animal’s enthusiasm. 

For the first time in a very long time, John felt glad that Quentin hadn’t done the Holmsian thing and ignored him.

He watched Gladstone explore, feeling that emptiness he had felt since Sherlock’s death fade over slightly. 

Maybe one day, he would send Quentin a thank you card. However, today was not that day.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I have taken a few things from several sources for this story which I think I should credit here.
> 
> Firstly, the city of Montpellier was actually mentioned as a place Sherlock visited while in hiding. According to the novels, while there, he acted as a Chemist researching Coal Tar. As for how long it would take to travel there from London, I have no idea. I have never been to either the UK or France in my life and mostly took an educated guess based on what I have read.
> 
> Secondly, in the books, Sherlock did retire and develop an interest in apiculture. My reference there was in honour of that.
> 
> Thirdly, the name of the dog Gladstone belongs to the Sherlock Holmes movies staring Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law. In the novels it is mentions a few times that Dr Watson owned a dog which I believe was a bulldog but as far as I know, it was never named. I chose to keep the name because I think it would be a good name for a dog and my inner Q agreed with me.


End file.
